Happiness

They say the happiest person is often the saddest,

They are the one with the most pain inside

 

Masks

Everyone has one.

As children they are blank – wide eyed and wondering,

As teens they are smashed,

                                         B r o k e n,

                                                    Repaired,

                                                                And smashed again

                                                                                 Until nothing is left but fine dusts to be pieced back together.

Then, they are used, reused, and used,

till they can be used no more.

 

Me

I wear a smile on my face

People say that I am the happiest person they have ever seen

But they have not seen me.

They have not heard my thoughts.

Conformity! Unity! Regulations!

I am an autonomous individual.

I have a mask of smiles and a face of pain.

Perhaps it is like this for each of us,

Perhaps the tide of normalcy is too thunderous to weather.

But I still continue to do so alone.

 

People see me and expect me to be smart.

My race, my features, all common stereotypes.

But it is only skin deep.

They know nothing of my ambitions.

A first impression always comes with classification.

A routine life,

An avid imagination.

I walk a fine line between reality and hallucinations.

At times, I stand at the edge of madness.

But there is always a guiding light for me.

A hope for the future, and a cry for the past.

Who is it that can determine who we are?

No one.

They do not know me.

They only know me skin deep.